


Far From Home

by thequeergiraffe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!verse, Astronaut AU, F/F, F/M, Future AU, Kinda, M/M, Multi, NASA, Space AU, probably non-explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:57:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3151475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/pseuds/thequeergiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2024, and humanity has begun tentatively colonizing Mars. In a repeat of the Cold War, Russia and the United States are embroiled in a race to be the first to build a permanent, stable colony on the red planet. Is that why Dean feels so mistrustful towards the Russian cosmonauts aboard the ISS II (the ship that sits at the halfway point between Earth and Mars), or is there something more sinister at play?<br/>---<br/>I don't even know. Think Alien meets Titanic. Corny love stuff mingled with horrible space death. Should be a blast, right? Just read the damn thing, you know you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [propinquitous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my dear friend Ceci. I told you I'd write this thing eventually.

**June 12, 2024**

There were a lot of things about the Second International Space Station to be enthused about, but for Dean it mostly came down to one thing: sweet, sweet gravity.

“We’re lucky. That’s actually a fairly recent amenity,” said the Canadian kid with the ridiculous name, as he led them out of them docking bay and into one of the main corridors. “Only a decade ago astronauts aboard the first ISS had to live in a state of perpetual weightlessness, working out almost constantly just to retain the same body mass they’d had on Earth.” He blushed, then, and pushed a hand through his neat blonde hair. “But, I’m sure you all knew that already.”

“It’s an easy thing to forget,” Sam said pleasantly, his shrewd eyes scanning everything hungrily. Sam had always been a total nut for space, ever since their uncle Bobby had bought him his first telescope for his 8th birthday. Dean didn’t exactly share his passion; for one thing, flying had always scared the bajeezus out of him (and that went double for rocketing through the atmosphere in a wash of flames only to be cast out into the endless void of space), and aside from that the science of space seemed to take away some of the awe-inspiring mystery of it. In Dean’s experience, the more you knew about something, the less beautiful it became.

The Canuck led the crew of the Artemis V into the mess hall, where they were met with enthusiastic cheers by a small group of other Americans, and bland stares from a trio of silent Russians. Their presence was unexpected, and the Artemis V crew all leveled the Canadian kid with the same questioning glance. “They came in about three days ago,” he explained, in an undertone. “There was some sort of malfunction on the Mars base, life supports went down, and they high-tailed it here until a rescue mission can be launched.” He smiled a little uncomfortably. “We’re going to be packed in a little tightly, but with the supplies you guys brought today and the emergency supply ship coming in six months, we’ll be okay.” He cleared his throat and announced to the gathered crowd: “I’d like to introduce the crew of Artemis V, though I’m sure they need no introduction. First, Captain Charlie Bradbury, tech expert. She’ll be working with fellow techie Dr. Kevin Tran here to update some of our systems and recalibrate the solar panels, so that’s all very exciting. Then we have biologist Dr. Sam Winchester and physicist Dr. Ruby Winchester, who will be working on some independent research. Last but not least, engineer Dean Winchester, who will be working with Captain Bradbury and Dr. Tran on the solar panels, as well as doing some general repairs and upgrades. Let’s all welcome them to the ISS II.”

The group clapped, one of them – a scrawny guy with a very un-regulation haircut – even putting his fingers in his mouth to whistle enthusiastically. When the noise died down, the Canadian kid licked his lips and said, “Now, I’d like to introduce the astronauts and cosmonauts of the ISS II. I’m Samandriel Alphonse; I came up with the last American crew. I’m an astrophysicist as well, Dr. Winchester -- ”

“Ruby,” Sam’s wife interjected, smiling almost flirtatiously. As if to balance that out, she slipped her hand into Sam’s.

“Ruby,” Samandriel blushed. “So I’ll be very keen to discuss your work.” He cleared his throat and moved on. “Our lifers,” he said, gesturing to the American crew. “Ellen and Jo Harvelle, who I’m sure you’ve heard about.”

Dean had; they were the first mother-daughter pair out in orbit at the same time, and the first humans to ever reside in space for longer than five years. Pictures hadn’t done Jo justice, though; her scowl and orange suit had hidden something soft and amiable that seemed apparent in her now.

“Ellen and Jo basically keep this beast in the air,” said the guy with the mullet. “You see a moving part on this ship, you can bet those gals have fixed it at some point.” This was pronounced with a sort of familial pride, and the look the women gave him in return was no less congenial.

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Samandriel smiled. “That’s resident technician Ashton Miles. He’s been the ship’s only tech-cum-engineer for the last several months, and I’m sure he’s grateful to have some extra hands on board.”

“Extremely,” Ash said, his arms folded across his chest and his heavy-lidded eyes scanning the faces of the Artemis V crew. Dean noticed the arms were cut off his jumpsuit, the edges frayed. “A man needs time to relax.”

“Next we have the squadron from the Russian Mars base,” Samandriel went on. “Captain Naomi Petrovich, biologist and astrophysicist,” he said, gesturing to a placid woman with neat hair and intelligent eyes. “Dr.  Anya Milyutin, biologist and engineer,” a lithe, sexy redhead with eyes as big and dark as space itself and frown lines framing her mouth, “and Dr. Castiel Novak, our new resident physician. We’re lucky to have a doctor on board; that’s rarely the case on the ISS II these days.” Dr. Novak looked tired and wary, his narrowed blue eyes shadowed and rimmed with lines that were only slightly shallower than those on his forehead. His mouth was full and smooth but turned downwards, his jaw set and sloppily shaved. He seemed to be looking only at Dean.

Samandriel had been speaking, but it wasn’t until Ash shouted to the group that Dean turned his attention away from the ship’s doctor. “Room assignments,” Ash was saying, “and yeah, you may’ve noticed we’re running at full capacity here, so we’re gonna have to bunk up. Apologies to the married couple,” he said, with a somewhat solemn nod at Sam and Ruby. He cleared his throat and withdrew a list from his pocket: “Room A: S. Winchester; D. Winchester; K. Tran; C. Novak. Room B: N. Petrovich; C. Bradbury; R. Winchester; A. Milyutin. Ellen, Jo, Alfie, and me are in Room C. Any questions?”

“Alfie?” Dean asked, despite himself.

“Is there a reason the bunks are segregated by gender?” Ruby cut in, hand on her hip. Her eyes were blazing, but she was still calm. For now, at least; Dean knew from experience that wouldn’t last long.

“It tends to be the preference,” Ellen answered, her voice soft and twangy. Dean instantly liked her. “Ash has always roomed with me and Jo; you spend so much time up here and you get to be like family. Samandriel joined us when the last crew left a few months back, didn’t want to room by himself. I can’t hardly blame him.” The rest was left unsaid: space could be terribly lonely.

Ruby softened a bit, but she wasn’t ready to relent just yet. “Even so, I’d like to be able to room with my husband. Ground control implied that this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Ground control ain’t here, honey,” Ellen said unsympathetically. She let out a sigh and added, “If ya’ll decide to discuss trades among yourselves, ain’t no business of mine. But if I get people coming to me, complaining about roommates, I’m gonna pull out my list and put everything back to rights.”

Ash took over from there, explaining shower rotation and meal times, but Dean had one ear trained on Ruby, who was whispering to Sam. “I’ll trade with Dr. Novak, I’m sure he wants to be with his own crew. Charlie won’t mind being left behind, look at how she’s staring at Anya.” That made him chuckle – he and Charlie had always had the same taste in women, even back when they flew in the Force together – but the mention of Novak’s name sent his eyes wandering back to the Russian doctor. He was looking at his hands, seeming for all the world to be listening intently to Ash’s spiel, but that worry was still cast over him, tugging at the corners of his mouth and sagging his shoulders. Something told Dean that Ruby had it all wrong; there was nowhere in the universe the doctor would like to be less than in the same room as the rest of his crew.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, another quick note. I've approached the science here a little fast and loose. I feel like I was getting really bogged down by research and this just wasn't getting written, so. If you see any glaring errors just assume that we've overcome that by 2024. Woo, future~~~

**June 13, 2024**

“I can’t believe that asshole wouldn’t trade with me,” Ruby seethed quietly for the hundredth time, glaring over at Dr. Novak, who seemed lost in contemplation over his oatmeal at a table by himself. “Sorry to throw you into the Russian fray, Dean.”

Dean grinned at her. “Right, because living on the set of a Hot Babes in Space porno is such a nightmare.” Actually, Dean would’ve preferred staying close to his little brother, especially way up here, closer to Mars than to their hometown in South Dakota. And the only porn potential in their dormitory seemed to be Lesbian Redheads in Space; Anya and Charlie hit it off immediately, and Naomi seemed mistrustful of everyone, especially Dean. Anyway, the night hadn’t exactly been a slumber party. Half a year sleeping in zero G’s makes for one hell of uncomfortable night at nearly full gravity. Dean spent the night tossing and turning, surprising himself with how badly he wished he could literally drift into sleep. Maybe he was starting to get the hang of this whole space thing after all.

“Hmm, lucky you,” Ruby drawled, rolling her eyes. “Although watching the Wonder Twins make out all night seems highly preferable to listening to our resident quack mumble in Russian all night.”

Dean shot another glance over at the doctor, who’d abandoned his oatmeal and seemed dourly focused on draining his coffee mug. “He’s that bad, huh?”

“The worst,” Ruby confirmed. “That rescue vessel can’t come soon enough.”

“Hmm.” Dean didn’t have much to say about that. Luckily neither Ruby nor Sam had time to tease him for it; Ellen chose that moment to burst into the mess hall, loudly reminding everyone that daily video logs were a requirement, that job training would begin at 0900, and that dishes didn’t wash themselves.

\---

VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT:  D.W. [SUBJECT IS DRESSED IN A T-SHIRT AND OVERALLS WORN UP TO THE WAIST AND TIED AROUND HIS MIDSECTION. HIS APPEARANCE SEEMS NORMAL.]

DEAN WINCHESTER: So, we’re here. Got in last night. The ship is huge…I mean, ungodly huge. I got lost twice on the way to the can, damn near pissed my overalls.

What’s-his-name, Alfie, gave us a tour of the place after room assignments. Sammy got a real kick out of the lab he’ll be using – apparently the Russians are using the anti-grav lab, so he’s got the regular one all to himself for the time being. Don’t ask me what the hell he’ll be doing in there; once he gets started on all that science mumbo-jumbo, he might as well be speaking French as far as I’m concerned.

What else, what else. [HE SCRATCHES HIS STOMACH AND LOOKS AWAY FOR SEVERAL SECONDS.] Right, so the tour. We saw the mess hall – it’s enormous. I guess everything looks huge when you’ve been trapped in a little sardine-can-of-death but I swear it’s like a friggin high school gym or something. Speaking of, there’s a gym. Sam said something about the treadmill and I just laughed. I’ve been through boot camp; that’s enough running for one lifetime, thank you.

We also toured the med bay. [HE PAUSES.] Dr. Novak wasn’t there yet. Alfie showed us some state-of-the-art machinery, and I’m kind of looking forward to one of those things going kaput so I can crack it open and have a look at its insides, I won’t lie to you. I’ll tell you what I’m not looking forward to: hull repairs. Which is what I’m doing today, actually. Look—[HE LEANS FORWARD, TALKING DIRECTLY TO THE CAMERA] –it’s one thing being on the ship. Hell, even on the Artemis you could…I don’t know, tell yourself you’re _not_ surrounded on all sides by cold dark death. Outside the ship? Not so much. And don’t even get me started on the suit. Hey, NASA, when are you guys gonna figure out how to make a suit that doesn’t crawl up your ass? Space wedgies: not cool, dude.

[HE REACHES FORWARD AND TURNS OFF THE CAMERA]

\---

His breath was entirely too loud in his ears, a constant gasp and hiss that seemed to ramp up his anxiety threefold. Par for the course with the suit, though. He tried to ignore it.

“Shouldn’t Anya be training today, too?” Dean asked, tugging surreptitiously at the seat of his suit. “She’s an engineer too, isn’t she?”

Ash shrugged, his eyes trained on the equipment he was prepping. “The Russians have some special project they’re working on, and we don’t really have…authority, you could say, to force them to help out around here. Technically they’re refugees. Ellen did ask if they wanted to volunteer, but you can guess how that went.”

“Ah.” Yeah, Dean could imagine that conversation. Things were tense between their countries at the moment; had been for awhile, actually. They’d come close to all out war more than once in the last decade. And in the space community things were even more tense; Russia and the United States fought bitterly and constantly over ‘prime’ territory on Mars. Frankly, it all looked the same to Dean. You see one red rock, you’ve seen ‘em all.

Ash stood up and slapped Dean’s back. “Okay, one tool kit, one jetpack. Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Dean sighed, slipping on the bulky backpack and latching the toolkit to his waist. It was heavy now, especially combined with the weight of the suit itself, but soon enough it would be free-floating, just like him. Dean tried not to think about that too much.

They walked over to the service bay doors, which opened with a slight and satisfying _woosh_. “All right, Winchester. I’ll be here, ready to suit up if needed. This is a pretty routine little cake walk though so don’t stress it, brother. When I close these doors I’ll do a little backwards countdown and then the room will pressurize and this hatch here will open.” He tapped the hatch, which was just wide enough to allow Dean through. “Just remember your training and you’ll be fine. A word of advice though, don’t look away from the ship.”

Nausea rolled through Dean in a wave. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Ash laughed at that and clapped Dean’s back one more time. “All right. Well, here goes nothing.” He left the little service bay, the doors closing behind him with a solid clunk that made Dean’s stomach sink.

“Comms check,” Ash said in his ear, his voice tinny but unbroken. “Check, check.”

“Loud and clear,” Dean said softly into his mic, surprised at the steadiness of his voice. “Codename Boba Fett, ready for deployment.”

Ash laughed again (they were going to get along, Dean could tell) and cleared his throat. “All righty, then. Here we go. In five, four…”

Dean squeezed his eyes closed, focused on his breath. He thought about the Air Force, about jumping from a plane for the first time, trusting that his chute would work, trusting that the ground wouldn’t come up too fast, trusting that his brothers wouldn’t chuck him out into open sky  without knowing he’d be safe. _This is just like that_ , Dean told himself, despite knowing that most of the boys in the Force would be shitting in their suits right now. _It’s just like that, it’s just like--_

“One,” Ash said, and then the pressure locks released and the room was filled with the roar of changing air. Dean’s feet drifted from the ground, the toolbox leaving his grip and floating free at his waist. A rush of terror sent cold sweat up through his skin, and then the adrenaline kicked in and he was fine; more than fine, he was ready. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, let out a slow breath, and opened his eyes.

“All right, boss,” he said, looking around for the hatch, which seemed to be below him and to his left now. “I’m heading out there.”

“Godspeed,” Ash said, his voice serious and teasing all at once.

Dean nodded, knowing Ash could see him through the camera in his helmet. He tried not to imagine how he must look right now, sweaty and wild-eyed and unprepared. He’d done hours and hours of training, at NASA HQ and on the Artemis, but it didn’t matter. Nothing could get you ready for this.

A little squeeze of the jetpack’s trigger sent him forward a few feet, a slow but well-aimed drift that suited Dean just fine. He shifted his body and hit the trigger again, and he was at the hatch. There seemed to be nothing outside of it, just a blackness so profound it seemed like he should be able to feel it, like putting his hand into deep water. “You’re doing just fine,” Ash said, as if he could hear Dean’s thoughts. Was he speaking them out loud? No, the only noise coming from him was the constant harsh rasp of his breath.

“Here we go,” Dean said, breathless, and then he didn’t stop to think about it (because if he had, he would’ve never gone out there), he just tapped the trigger on his jetpack and sailed gently out into the unending dark.

It felt like his heart was going to hammer its way out of his chest. “I’m out,” he gasped, clutching the side of the ship and pulling himself close.

“Good, all right,” Ash said softly. Dean could imagine the look on his face, earnest concentration, his sleepy eyes concealing the fact that he was too clever for his own good. Dean trusted Ash. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he did. “Now let’s get to work.”


	3. Chapter 3

It had been maybe an hour, maybe a little more, and Dean was doing just fine. There were beads of sweat on his face he wished he could brush away with the back of wrist, and the automated voice that trilled every ten minutes, “Oxygen tanks, 99%, oxygen tanks, 98%” was supremely annoying, but otherwise Dean found himself slipping into his work just as easily as he had on the Artemis. He’d always liked getting his hands dirty, figuring out the hows and whys of things, finding out what made a thing tick. Sammy was book smart and Dean admired that about him, but Sam didn’t have the patience for fixing things. Growing up, Bobby had said as much to Dean a hundred times or more. “He’s going places, sure, but you are too. You’ve got something in those hands of yours.”

Thinking about Bobby had eradicated the last vestiges of primal fear tugging at his stomach, and then he’d been able to really focus, to slip into that timeless zone where it was just him and the broken thing and a set of tools and his steady hands. He probably would’ve spent the evening in a glow of pride, maybe even made a move on that pretty Jo (all those years in space, she had to be a little lonely), if not for Ash calling suddenly, worriedly, “Dean? Pack her up, man. Reel it in.”

Dean’s hands paused. He was clipped to the side of the ship so he wouldn’t drift, but he dug his knees in anyway. “What?”

“Come on back now. We’ve got a, um, medical emergency.”

Had to be Sam. They wouldn’t call him back for anyone else.

The next few minutes were spent in frantic movement, the threat of space forgotten entirely in the wash of worry over his brother. Ash wouldn’t tell him anything more over the comms, just that Dean needed to get his ass on the ship pronto, and Dean bitterly wished that he’d understood even a word of Sam’s scientific ramblings, or tried to understand it anyway, so that he’d have some small inkling of what might’ve happened to his brother.

The air lock in the service bay took forever to close, the air itself a millennium to pressurize. Ash had to talk Dean down from tugging his helmet off before there was oxygen to breathe.

Inside, the suit was off in record time. “What happened to him?” Dean panted, as Ash flitted around him, making sure he didn’t ruin anything in his hurry. “Where is he?”

“Not sure about what happened, just that it was serious,” Ash admitted, dragging the suit off to safety. “But they’ve taken him to the med bay.”

That was all Dean needed to hear. He bolted off in the direction of medical, sure of the ship’s layout for the first time since their arrival.

\---

The air was cool inside the ship, and Dean was soaked with sweat, dressed only in boxers and a T-shirt, but he hardly noticed the chill. It was a long jog to the med bay and he’d been breathless at the start, so he was gasping by the time he spotted Ruby leaning against the wall outside of medical, chewing angrily on her nails. She glanced up, saw how fast he was moving towards the door. “You can’t go in there--” she began, but he ignored her and hit the lock hard, squeezing his way through the doorway before it had time to fully open.

“Where is he?” Dean shouted, scanning the med bay (and god it was huge, just like the rest of the ship). “Sam! Sammy!”

A head poked out of one of the green curtained areas: black hair, narrowed eyes, white mask. Dr. Novak. He stepped out from behind the curtain, his gloved hands soaked in bright red blood. “What are you doing in my operating room?” he asked. His voice, deep and unaccented, would’ve been a surprise under other circumstances.  As it was, Dean barely noticed.

“Where’s Sam?”

Novak’s squint deepened. He held up his hands. “He’s just been through serious surgery. You can’t see him now.”

“He’s my brother,” Dean growled, surging forward, but the doctor stopped him with a bloodied hand pressed to Dean’s chest. He was stronger than he looked.

“You want him to recover? I need to finish cleaning his stitches, and he needs rest. Wait in the hall.” For a moment Dean didn’t budge, and Novak raised an eyebrow. “If he were dying,” Novak said gently, “I wouldn’t prevent you from seeing him. But he will recover. He needs his rest.”

Dean deflated. He nodded once, grimly, and turned away. Halfway to the door he stopped and glanced backwards, watching the doctor peel off his gloves and scrub his hands, grumbling in Russian. Then the doc tugged on fresh gloves, disappeared behind the curtain, and presumably got back to work. Dean stood for a moment more, then went out into the hall.

\---

He woke up with a headache and a stale taste in his mouth, unaware that he’d been sleeping. He was hunched up in the hallway outside of medical, a blanket draped over him. A piece of paper was taped to the floor next to him, with a note: _You may come in now_. The handwriting was elegant, unfamiliar.

Groaning, Dean stood and stretched. He left the blanket and the note in the hall and went over to med, somewhat sheepish now, but still anxious to see Sam. He still didn’t know anything about the surgery; Ruby had only been able to tell him that Sam had been having cramps, and then when they'd been working he’d doubled over and could barely make it to medical. Apparently the pain had been tremendous, which didn’t soothe Dean’s worries at all.

Inside the bay, Novak was at his computer, eating a tuna sandwich absently. He paused when Dean walked in, his eyes flitting down to Dean’s chest and back up to his eyes, then turned back to his computer and said, with cautious authority, “Change your clothes and wash your hands before you go in.” He gestured with his sandwich towards a stack of clothes sitting on an empty bed near the door, and then the sink. 

Dean obeyed wordlessly, awkwardly shrugging off his T-shirt and yanking on the provided sweats and sweater. There were even clean socks, a surprisingly thoughtful touch. Dean pulled off his sweat-soaked socks and replaced them with the clean ones.

At the sink he washed his hands and face, then swished his mouth out with water and spat loudly. Novak mumbled something in Russian at that, which Dean ignored. He padded over to the closed-off area and tugged the curtain open gently.

Sam was sleeping. His face was pinched and pale, a light coating of sweat beading up on his forehead. But otherwise he seemed fine. His blanket was tucked neatly around his chest, the machinery around him beeping rhythmically. He was okay. He was going to be fine.

“Are you hungry? I can bring you something from mess,” Cas said quietly, his gravelly voice pitched even lower so as not to disturb Sam. He’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his steps so soft Dean hadn’t heard his approach.

“Thank you,” Dean said, nodding. He sank into the chair beside Sam’s bed, taking Sam’s hand in his, careful not to bother the IV.

Dr. Novak watched him get settled. “Tuna?” he asked, after a moment.

“Sure.”

The doctor stood and watched him a moment longer, his head turned at an angle that made him look slightly owlish. Then he nodded and disappeared just as quietly as he’d come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon, I think. I've written half of chapter 4 and plotted the rest, and I'm feeling this story right now.


End file.
